Compromised Data Integrity
by thatmasquedgirl
Summary: AU: Felicity Smoak, Technical Advisor series #11. *Felicity gets a little more than she bargained for when the Arrow shows up at her apartment. Not that she minds.* A side story in the Technical Assistance universe that takes place after Chapter 32 "System Recovery and Restoration." Reading through the rest of the series first is highly recommended. Complete.


**Title: Compromised Data Integrity  
Word Count: 3913**

**Notes: **Okay, so this is probably my favorite side story in the collection. All I'm going to say is I'm sorry for one part of it (you'll know it when you read it), but I hope the scene beforehand makes up for it. ;) Any comments are welcomed and appreciated, but thanks for reading, too! :)

* * *

After throwing her keys on the table beside her door, Felicity sighs, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. It's been a long night, and she wants nothing more than to change into some pajamas and dive into that pint of mint chocolate chip she's been promising herself all night. On second thought, she decides that the pajama thing isn't necessary, but the ice cream needs to happen _now_. Along with that Disney movie.

Barry is sitting on the couch when she walks in, still in his trousers and white dress shirt, tie and suit coat removed, along with his shoes, apparently. "Hey, Sherly," he greets, "how did it go at the hospital?"

She's not sure how to answer that, honestly. Tommy and Oliver have obviously gotten through their issues, Malcolm is fine, and she's dealing with her own issues—namely, the fact that she held pressure to a dying man's wounds. It's caught up to her since the actual event, and now she sighs as she walks into the kitchen, Barry's eyes on her the entire time. They widen when he sees her return with the quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream and two spoons. He hesitates before saying, "That's a lot of ice cream. Bad night?"

"You're going to help me eat it," she assures him, eliciting a smile. "And it was just… a lot to deal with." She lets her hand drop on top of his as she drops onto the couch next to him, and she offers him a sympathetic smile. "For both of us, Barry." She offers him a spoon, and he takes it with a smile. "So, we haven't really had a chance to talk since you found out about the newest Arrow development." She dives into the ice cream with her spoon before saying, "What do you want to know?"

He hesitates, trying to discern if it's an opportunity to ask anything and everything he can think of. She assures him it is with a slight nod, and he immediately responds with, "Do you… do you know his name?" Felicity immediately frowns, and Barry takes a moment to wave his hands wildly, eyes wide. "I don't want to know, and I'm not asking you because I do." He hesitates. "I just want to make sure that you know _exactly_ who you're getting into bed with—and take that as it applies, literally or figuratively." She turns scarlet as he continues, "It's a risk that you're doing this to begin with, and adding a relationship with the Arrow—while I think he's doing an awesome job cleaning up Starling City—isn't the best idea you've ever had."

"I know who he is," she assures him. She doesn't feel bad about the lie now since she knows him so well, and she takes another bite of ice cream, talking around it in her mouth. "I know that I can trust him. I know that he's not the monster that everyone seems to think he is." She bites her lip. "I know that he saved my life, that he saved Malcolm Merlyn's."

Barry frowns, and Felicity touches his arm as she laughs her next round of thoughts. "Did you know," she starts casually, "that it took him at _least_ three tries before he managed to kiss me the first time?" Barry's eyes widen at that, and she can't help but laugh at his expression. He either thinks she's being too forthcoming with details or the subject change surprises him, but Felicity can't decide which one it is. "He's not a charge-in-guns-blazing-and-do-whatever-it-takes kind of guy, Watson. They think he is, but they're wrong about him because they don't understand him. He's a think-everything-through-fifty-times-just-to-be-sure kind of guy and he's careful about everything—especially me."

Barry seems to think about that for a very long moment, both of them taking several bites of ice cream. "I just want to make sure you're safe, Felicity," he says finally, and she knows he's serious because he actually calls her by name for a change. "Just doing my brotherly duty." He pats her hand once before rising from the sofa. "But, if he's good to you—and he's good _for_ you—I'm thrilled you're with him." He motions over his shoulder. "I think I'm going to call it a night." He laughs. "You're too exciting for me these days. Goodnight, Sherly."

She smiles, pointing to the ice cream with her spoon. "Well, I'm going to binge-eat a while longer, but then I'm going to get a few hours' sleep before I have to do it all over again, too. Goodnight, Watson."

He leaves, and no sooner does he shut the door than her bedroom door opens to a green hooded figure. She smiles when he leans against the doorway casually, arms crossed over his chest as he smiles back at her. She offers the bowl toward him. "Do you want some? I can get another spoon from the kitchen, since Barry already used that one."

He lets out something akin to a laugh, a soft, breathy sound that even the synthesizer doesn't alter. "No, but thank you," he answers, and she gets up to return the carton before she eats all of it. When she returns to the living room, he's sitting on the sofa next to the cushion she had previously occupied. She moves over to the light switch and turns it off, letting the only glow come from a lamp in the far corner. It's enough light for her, she decides after a moment, so she drops next to him on the couch.

He sighs deeply before saying casually, "I heard what you told Barry tonight. About me." It causes her to look at him with wide eyes, a blush immediately warming her face. She didn't mean to have an audience for that, though she probably wouldn't have changed her statement either way. Perhaps she would have tried to sound a little less like one of those deranged fans that have started popping up across the city, but the rest of it was accurate. He tilts her head up, and there's a slight smile on his face though he seems to struggle with what he wants to say next. Finally, he settles for, "Thank you."

She chuckles. "There's no reason to thank me for telling the truth," she says, biting the sentence off just after her mouth forms the shape of the next sound—the word she's not ready to breathe aloud just yet. She hesitates before adding, "I know you think you're broken, but you're not. You're _human_, and we all have skeletons in our closets that we never want to let out again." She cups his jaw, finding that it's odd to see the gesture reversed. "That has nothing to do with the kind of person you are."

He hesitates ever so slightly, even as he places his hand on hers. "You're the first person who hasn't looked at me like a monster. Who hasn't called me a murderer or a killer," he says, his voice low and faltering, as though he's not sure of his words. "Thank you."

"You're not a monster," she disagrees firmly, "you're a _survivor_. I see it in the way you act, in the way you fight." She brushes her thumb over the corner of the mask. "In the way your eyes are sad when you smile most of the time." She hesitates, biting her lip again for a moment. "You're disillusioned because you realize what Hell we're living in right now. Like the world broke a long time ago, but you're the only one who noticed." She drops her hand from his jaw to take one of his. "We have, but we try to pretend it didn't because that would be hard. But you… you see it, and you don't ignore it. You're trying to fix it." She tilts her head to the side. "I think that, by definition, makes you a hero, and, even if the rest of the world doesn't see it yet, they will."

He shakes his head at her. "I always wonder what it would be like to see the world through your eyes," he admits after a long moment, and, for the life of her, she can't figure out what he means.

"Blurry," she answers truthfully, and she earns one of those breathy laughs in return. "At least without my contacts or glasses. Things blend into one another until I can't tell the difference anymore." She waves a hand, flushing a little as she realizes a fact she then blurts: "But that probably isn't what you meant."

"It isn't," he agrees, and then his mouth is on hers. In the midst of their conversation, she's turned toward him on the sofa, curling her legs between them and letting her ankles hang off the edge of the cushion. He has to lean toward her to pull off the kiss, and so his hand slides across her bare shoulder blade, exposed by the backless dress. Her hand cups on his jaw again, the other one going to his shoulder.

His angle is awkward and probably difficult to manage, so she feels his hand press into the cushion between her and the back of the couch to balance himself. Ever so slightly, Felicity feels herself leaning backward, and then suddenly the pillowed arm of the couch crosses her shoulder blades as the Arrow's hand dips increasingly lower on her back.

At some point, she realizes he's on top of her while he's kissing her, that there's something very different and demanding about the kiss that separates it from the others—not that she's complaining, of course. His body presses across hers, his legs somehow managing to slip between hers. One of them falls off the couch, and then suddenly, his gloved hand is sliding down the length of her leg. All she can think for a moment is _Dear God, when did it get so hot in here?_ but all thought ends the moment his hand tightens around her calf and pulls it up over his back. Her skirt rides up in the process, but she can't bring herself to care because the hand on her leg is sliding up her thigh and the other is clenching her hip.

Without thinking, she pulls on the zipper of his jacket, and she tenses when she realizes that she's crossed a boundary. But he's wearing a shirt under it and he seems a little too occupied with kissing her to pay attention. That changes, though, when her hands slip under his shirt, greedily skimming over the chest she's been dreaming about since she applied salve to his burns so many months ago.

His hand goes to the back of her neck, releasing the latch on the halter of her dress. She freezes because she realizes he's not intent on stopping this time. Part of the beauty of his concealed identity was that their kisses always had an endpoint and she would have to worry about a demand that things progress further than a stolen kiss here and there. It's an aspect of their relationship she hasn't thought about yet, other than to dismiss it as a possibility until he was ready to tell her.

He surprises her yet again, though, when he simply slides the collar over to one side, moving his mouth to the junction where her neck and shoulder meet. He doesn't try to dive any lower than her collarbone, and, when he finally pulls away from her, he fastens it back into place with steady hands and a very satisfied smile.

It falls slowly as he leans toward her again, his face hovering over hers. He takes her hand, pulls it up to his face, and wraps her fingers around the elastic of the mask. "Go ahead," he says gently, his face almost in a grimace now. "I don't want to lie to you anymore." His hand drops to her hip, leaving the choice in her hands. "But I don't want to lose you, either."

It's a tempting offer, one that tears at her. It's clear he's not going to stop her if she makes the choice to end this charade for both of them. But, on the other hand, part of her knows that she can't deny it any longer if the proof is right in front of her. It's a terrifying decision, and she thinks it's unfair for him to throw it on her doorstep, to let her deal with the fallout of it.

Her hand falls from the mask, and she lets her hands wander back to the zipper of his jacket, zipping it back up again. He studies her with narrowed eyes, with confusion, and so she places both of her hands on his face. "I already—" she starts, but it ends when she hears a choking sound coming from the hallway.

Felicity's head swivels immediately, and she can feel color flood her face when she takes in Barry standing there, in his STAR Labs sweatshirt and Superman pajama pants, staring at them both with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. The Arrow slides the leg over his hip between both of his, discreetly pulling the hem of her dress down at a more proper location on her leg. Then he's across the room, not looking at either one of them.

"Holy fishsticks," he mutters, blinking several times, shaking his head. Then, louder he tries, "I'm never sitting on that couch again." He shakes his head as she manages to sit up on the couch. "Look, I'm glad for you, Felicity, but I'd appreciate that you two didn't make out in a public room while I'm here." He shakes his head, turning away. "I'll just… get that glass of water and leave you two to your…" He waves a hand. "Yeah."

He proceeds to do as he says, and Felicity groans as she lays back against the couch, covering her eyes with her hands. She hears the door shut behind him, and then leather gloves pull at her wrists, gently coaxing her to her feet and leading her back toward her bedroom.

The Arrow kisses her shoulder, her jaw, and then her mouth before saying, "Goodnight, Felicity." Even as he does so, he won't meet her eyes, and she realizes he's just as embarrassed as she is.

She sinks down on the bed, sighing and wondering when her face will stop flaming.

* * *

Tommy looks around the floor of Verdant he never knew existed before today, amazed by the layout in front of him. For the moment, it's only him and Ollie's bodyguard—Diggle, he vaguely remembers the name—and he's not sure what to think about the fact that he now owns half of the base of operations for the Vigilante.

Diggle is a quiet man, Tommy has learned recently, not feeling the need to fill the silence or talk about anything. Instead, he sits at the workstation of computers in the middle of the room, going through the news reports and information. Finally, Tommy can take the silence no longer, and he asks, "So... don't take this the wrong way, but what, exactly, do you do here?"

Diggle seems surprised that Tommy asks, turning toward him for a moment. "I provide tactical support," he answers, and he chuckles at Tommy's blank look. "I'm the guy watching over everything with a sniper rifle, or putting myself in an intelligence gathering position." He crosses his arms. "I'm Oliver's eyes and ears when his profile is too high for a situation."

"And Felicity?" Tommy asks, curious. He knows she does computer-related things, but he doesn't understand how the ability to get information off a hard drive is of use to them all the time.

Diggle offers a silent laugh in response before offering an enigmatic smile. "I'll let you see for yourself," is his answer, and his timing is perfect; he says it just as Oliver is traipsing into the building behind Felicity. They make an odd pair—Oliver in his Arrow gear, and Felicity in a black pencil skirt and a pink button-down.

"It will just be a few days," Felicity is saying to him. "I know it's kind of inconvenient for you, but it's kind of a tradition for me to go to Central City for a few days this time of year." She bites her lip, stopping to look up at him, and he drops to the same step as her. There's barely enough space for the two of them on the narrow staircase, Tommy notes, so Oliver pulls her into him, his hand flat at her back as she presses against him.

She continues casually, as though nothing is out of the ordinary, "It's the anniversary of the day Barry's mom died, and I'm not sure he's capable of being on his own for that." She waves a hand. "It's a long story, but, while the cops think they caught her killer, Barry thinks that her murder has gone unsolved, and it's a really hard time for him."

"Take as long as you need," he assures her, just loud enough for Tommy to hear the response. Then Oliver's fingers flutter across her jaw, and she smiles. "I'll be here when you get back." That's all it takes for Tommy to shake his head; the boy has it _bad_.

"Thank you," Tommy sees her mouth because it's too soft for him to hear, and she stands on her toes to kiss him. It starts a slightly-longer-than-publicly-acceptable kiss, and Felicity is the first to pull away this time, flushing. "We don't want a repeat of last time," she says to him, but it doesn't seem to deter him, seeing as how he leans down for another kiss, this one chaste and short.

"Maybe _you_ don't," comes the reply, and Felicity's blush darkens at the implications of that statement—whatever they are, Tommy doesn't know. And he's fairly certain he doesn't _want_ to know.

"You're shameless," she answers sharply, but the smile takes the bite out of her words. Oliver only smiles in response, neither confirming or denying it.

She starts down the stairs again, Oliver following behind her. "How did everything go with Barry this morning?" he asks her, and she stops on the stairs to round on him instantly. Tommy has no idea how Oliver feels, but Tommy is a little terrified for his friend.

"You mean after you ran out like a coward?" she retorts, and judging by the way Oliver won't look at her, she's probably calling it correctly. Her face softens into a smile as she starts down the stairs again, saying over her shoulder, "Fortunately for you, Barry and I have made it through more awkward moments than the one last night." She waves a hand dismissively. "I mean, we got sloppy drunk together as teenagers—that's an eternal bonding moment for best friends." She bites her lip. "Though we're never allowed to speak of the Incident again, so you never heard about that, okay?"

"Okay," Tommy starts, butting into the conversation, "I have to know this story. You two were sloppy drunk and now you don't talk about it?" He raises an eyebrow. "There has to be a story there, Smoaky."

"Not one that matters to you," she replies firmly. "It was freakishly awkward and involved Madonna songs and puking over a bridge railing. Not my finest hour." She thinks about it for a moment longer. "Not Barry's finest hour either—he couldn't carry a tune if you gave him a bucket to put it in."

Tommy can't hold back a laugh, but he does notice that even Oliver is smiling at the story. He smiles a lot more now, and Tommy thinks that has something to do with the blonde IT girl he ushers toward the computer desk with a hand at the small of her back.

"Digg, I think it's time I take back my babies," she says with a smile. It fades as she continues, "And if you've messed with the height adjustments, you're going to have nothing but spam emails in your inbox for a month."

He vacates the seat with hands raised in surrender, and she pulls up a set of screens that Tommy doesn't understand. Curious, he walks over and stands behind her, watching her pull up a screen he isn't smart enough to interpret. "So, Smoaky," he says as he leans beside her, "what does this even mean?"

She waves a hand. "This is a search string I've set up to check all local and national media outlets and government databases," is her casual reply, like she thinks she's actually speaking English. "And it seems we have some alerts." She clicks through the list slowly. "It looks like the newspapers are talking about your daring rescue of Mr. Merlyn," she says to Oliver. "And Frank Bertinelli's trial is about to start this week." She clicks the last alert, and her eyes go wide. "Which explains why my facial recognition system pulled a hit on a new arrival at the airport. Helena is back in town—travelling under an alias."

Tommy frowns because he vaguely remembers the name as the girl that was on Oliver's arm for a few nights. Apparently Oliver's memory of her is more tainted, though, because his expression turns down into a grim frown almost instantly. "It's a good time for you to take a few days away from Starling, then," he answers, his voice darker than Tommy has heard it in a long time. "We'll try to contain her while you're gone." He tugs on Felicity's arm gently, pulling her up out of the chair. "The next train to Central City is in the morning, and you're going to be on it," he insists, and Tommy notes that she doesn't argue, meaning that Felicity thinks this is probably the best course of action, too. "I'll take you home to pack, and then you're staying here for the night, where I can protect you. Mr. Diggle can take you to the train station in the morning. Call Barry and let him know what's going on."

She frowns. "Surely you don't think that—" she starts, but he cuts her off.

"I don't know what Helena will do," he answers the thought before she can finish voicing it, "but I know that I'm not going to take that kind of risk—not with you." He hesitates. "She knows who you are, that you work with me." He cups her jaw. "And she knows what you mean to me." Her mouth closes immediately, and Tommy realizes that she's not going to fight this because she understands how much Oliver needs this, to be in control of this situation.

"Okay," she answers, taking his hand. "What do you need me to do about our systems while I'm gone?" Tommy can feel his eyebrows raise at her no-nonsense answer, but then he realizes it's how she can stay focused on the task at hand: she has to turn it all into an equation in her head, and she has to concentrate on the logic and rule out the emotional factor.

"I'll take care of it," Oliver insists before ushering her up the stairs, only stopping to switch to another set of keys. Tommy gets the feeling that maybe Oliver isn't talking about the computers anymore.

A quick glance at Diggle's expression informs him that he's right.

* * *

_Playlist:_

_"You're My Best Friend" - Queen_  
_"Without You" - Harry Nilsson_  
_"Gasoline" - The Airborne Toxic Event_  
_"Your Surrender" - Neon Trees_  
_"Beg for Mercy" - Adam Lambert_  
_"Lie to Me" - Sara Bareilles_


End file.
